


If You Forget Me

by SinfulApathy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, PTSD, Prumano - Freeform, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 16:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14958071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinfulApathy/pseuds/SinfulApathy
Summary: A doctor and soldier meet and develop a bond deeper than the trenches of war, but will it last? What happens when the war ends, when memories fade and paths diverge? Their journals hold the keys to their pasts (and maybe their future).





	1. Lovino - Loss

**Author's Note:**

> This was co-written with a friend. She did all of the writing from Lovino's perspective while I took over Gil's. Apparently the best motivator for both of us is to share a google doc and go wild. 
> 
> Just to put it out there, this is in no way historically accurate. We're writers for fun, not history buffs. I hope you guys can overlook the inaccuracies enough to enjoy this.

  _September 10th, 1942  
__Somewhere_ _in the devil's asshole_

_This shit is ridiculous. I hate the fact that I have to tend to these stupid idiots who just can't seem to stay healthy for more than a second. First some moron came in complaining about a twisted ankle then another came in crying about how his stomach hurt. Why everyone thinks that this is a place to go for simple easy things is beyond me. I studied real doctor shit, not stomach aches and twisted ankles._  
_Some jerk did come in today that made me feel rather...odd to say the least. It was unsettling how confident the asshole was. He was tall and pale. His eyes looked disgusting from a medical view. Turns out the idiot was albino. He had the looks of a demon and the voice of a bird that decided to swallow a swordfish whole. Pretty fucked up. I never really seen someone that looked like him before. I felt bad about staring but the asshole seemed to like it anyway so whatever._  
_The asshole had the nerve to drag ANOTHER asshole in with him. Like I wasn't busy enough! The nurses were already full of patients that needed immediate attention so I guess I had to take care of them. The second guy (Charlie, I think it was? I don't fucking know and don't care) just needed a bandage. The other dickhead looked already in bad shape and I don't think any amount of healing could fix a face like that. Let alone that voice. Was he born that way or was that some kind of freak accident? He kept on looking at me like I was supposed to do something._  
_Did I? Well after I collected myself I told him to stop being such a fucking baby and made him sit down so I could fix his ugly ass face. Or at least attempt to. I'm no miracle worker.  
_ _It seemed like hours went by with how much the guy talked. He seemed to be flirting but that didn't make any sense. Did he think he had a shot with me? Maybe he had a concussion or something. Yeah, that had to be it._

_Hopefully this will be the last that I see of that pale devil. I think one visit from him is enough to last me the whole war._

 

* * *

 

Lovino looked at the old dried paper in his hands, the sound of it rustling as he set it on the desk in front of him snapping him back into reality. This was ages ago. A distant memory and yet it felt so close. He often thought about the pale devil named Gilbert, how the man would get himself hurt just to go visit him in the medical tent, and how the nurses would be so quick to greet him and ask what was wrong.

“Oh, you know. Nothing that Vargas can't handle.”

That voice. That voice he could never get out of his head. It took so long for Lovino to realize what was actually going on. The sneaky jerk just wanted to spend time with him. He really should have seen it coming, though. All the nurses saw it, but he himself was too blind to actually see it.

He could barely remember any of this. The only thing sparking the memory of the war were these journals. Gilbert was just a distant memory, something he wished to get back. That's why he decided to sit down and go through his journals again. He wanted to remember. Whatever happened back then messed his mind up so much he couldn't process the past events.

“Lovino, darling.” A small tender voice was heard from the doorway followed by a knock, that turning the man’s attention to his wife.

“What is it? I'm trying to...you know.” His eyes fell to the desk scattered unevenly with papers.

“Trying to remember?”

A nod came from the man who slumped back in his chair.

“Eve, this is what the counselor wants me to do. You suggested going to one and we are. If I'm going to move on, then I need to remember. Have you checked the mail?”

The woman fell silent, her hands moving from the doorway to her sides. “Nothing. I don't think anyone writes to you anymore, Lovino. This marriage is failing because you can't let go and focus on the future. Our future. Now, get up. We are going to be late for our session. Chel is already dropped off with the nanny.”

Without another word the defeated man stood up and put the loose papers in a pile. A quick glance to the clock as a final goodbye to his office for the night. Tomorrow he would read more. Tomorrow he would remember.

Later that night, tucked away in his office, did the rustling of papers fill the empty room with sounds of the past. It was only then could he manage to read in peace.

 

* * *

 

_September 20, 1942  
_ _Still in the devil's asscrack but maybe more North?_

_Gilbert. That was his name. Gilbert Belwhatever. Something stupid and German. It seems like I am not getting rid of the jerk so easily now...he proved himself to be a good shot during training. He knows how to handle a gun which is more than what I can say. Today they asked for everyone to participate and I nearly shot the General’s tent! The damn thing was behind us too! I was the laughingstock for the rest of the week. It sucked.  
_ _Gilbert managed to cheer me up somehow. I don't know how, but he did. Jerk got me to smile. We talked for a long time and it got pretty deep. I told him about my daughter, Chel, and how I was taken away from her. He told me how he joined because he was disgusted in his country seeing what it was doing to its own people. At least the guy has his mind straight.  
__Anyway, the moron had the nerve to say how he'd help me become an amazing fighter and a good shot. Maybe the idiot should learn how to avoid getting shot and hurt so much. Stupid moron is going to make me start to get worried about him. I can't afford that. Not now. You can't get close to people on the battlefield. If I become friends with this guy...what will happen if he gets shot and I can't save him? What if he dies in my hands? What if...I kill my friend?_

 

* * *

 

“My friend.” Lovino whispered, pulling the paper in closer to read. Well, so much for friends. Asshole doesn't even write to him. If only he had his address...maybe he could start the conversation? No. He wasn't one to reach out first. If he didn't say anything now, why would he reply? Maybe they weren't good friends. Maybe something happened that caused them to drift apart.

All he could do is keep reading and hope that he'd find answers within the words.


	2. Gilbert - Longing

_10th of September, 1942  
_ _Africa_

_Dearest Diary,_

_I’m getting really tired of bailing Charles out. This guy’s gonna get me killed some day, I swear. Anyway, I had to drag his ass to medical so we could both get attended to. Thanks to my brilliant tactical maneuvering we didn’t die, but my cheek got ripped open by some shrapnel. Charles just twisted his ankle, lucky bastard. ~~What if my scar doesn’t look cool and people mock me even more? How am I supposed to pick up guys now?~~ I hope my scar looks cool when it heals._   
_So, I was busy chatting up this nurse while they fetched the doctor. You know, regaling her with my heroic triumphs and the like. She totally dug it, but if you thought she was pretty, Diary, you would have been blown away by the doctor himself. He was hot in a surly schoolteacher kind of way, dark-haired and with cheeks that I would have enjoyed poking if he weren’t holding all those sharp tools. I wouldn’t mind him giving me a few whacks with a ruler, if you know what I mean. I asked him if he could make me look good again, but I’m not sure if he spoke English or not because he just kept looking at me funny. He must not have been used to someone so handsome talking him up._   
_He did finally seem to realize I was, in fact, there for some attention (medical, but we could “attend” to some other matters later, preferably over drinks) and made me sit down. You know me; I love a man who’s assertive and takes charge. Sadly, his interest in my face wasn’t as high as I would have hoped. He just gave a bunch of grunts when I tried to ask him stuff, that or he’d just flat-out ignore me. He’s lucky he’s so pretty because his bedside manner was TERRIBLE. He didn’t even warn me when he was disinfecting my wound so I almost ~~screamed~~ yelled in front of all the other soldiers and nurses! He did do a good job of stitching me up though, I’ll give him that. Really nice hands...I hope I get him again next time I inevitably put myself in harm’s way to help a comrade. Seriously, Charles, you need to stop being such a dumbass and THINK._

* * *

 

That was the entry Gilbert had kept coming back to lately. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, but he supposed hindsight was 20/20 for a reason, especially when his normal vision was like 100/14 or some other awful number by this point. He really needed to go get his prescription checked. There was a reason he hadn’t gone to any doctors lately, though.

His fingers drifted over the page, dragging across ink in no danger of being smudged since the days when he’d carried a rifle on his back and a confidence not yet burdened by the ghosts of war. It had begun to fade over the years, a condition not helped by how often Gilbert revisited his old diaries. The ones from his time with Lovino had taken the brunt of the damages. Gilbert had thought to copy them down to make sure he didn’t lose them to the ruins of time, had even tried several on several occasions, but each time that he’d taken a pen to an empty book, he could get only a handful of lines copied before his hands would start shaking too much for him to do anything, and then Toby would start jumping on him, and it would all just be a huge mess ending with him trying to work through his breathing exercises and hold onto reality.

He flipped forward a few pages and traced over a single word reverently: Lovino. He had learned the mystery doctor’s name almost two weeks later, when he had come in to get his stitches out. It hadn’t been by the same person who had sewn them in, but Gilbert had asked the nurse and provided enough information for her to be able to tell him the identity of his doctor.

_Lovino._ He had never come across the name before meeting him, and he hadn’t encountered it since. It was so tightly tied to him, _his_ Lovino.

God, he missed him. The feeling would abate at times only to resurge later. He would be fine until it hit him, and sometimes it would hurt as much as it had leaving him all those years ago. Almost ten now, if he remembered right.

“Happy anniversary to us,” Gilbert muttered. His tone was either bitter or forlorn enough to catch Toby’s attention. The dog picked his head up from where he had been napping. He then stood, stretched, and padded over to nose at his leg. Gilbert petted him in an absent way. His mind was a hundred miles and too many years away.

He closed the book with his other hand and sighed. It wasn’t healthy to keep rereading these. It bordered on obsession. It wasn’t healthy, but at the same time, he couldn’t help it. He missed his old life, his old friends...

_His Lovino_.

No, there he went again with that unhealthy fixation. He hadn’t heard from Lovino since the day they had parted paths on that train station so many years ago. They had promised to write. Gilbert had scarcely waited to get settled into his new apartment before he’d picked up a pen and written to him. He did it again the following week, not possessing the patience required to wait for a response first.

But Lovino didn’t write back.

Gilbert thought maybe his address had changed at some point during the war. He had been living with his girlfriend, that he knew. It was entirely within the realm of reasonable possibilities that she could have found a new place and taken him right to it after picking him up at the station. Anything was possible. But then, Gilbert reasoned, wouldn’t his letters have been returned or forwarded? He wrote a few more, and just to be safe he wrote a clear, very simple note right on the envelope that if this wasn’t Lovino Vargas’s address, then could the current resident please write him back with the enclosed stamp?

Nothing.

It had taken far longer than Gilbert liked to admit for him to piece it together, that the easiest and simplest answer to his question was that Lovino simply had no desire to write him back. It wasn’t hard to believe. He’d had a girlfriend that he was living with, after all. Gilbert knew other men had gotten lonely during the long enlistments from home, so why was it so hard to accept that Lovino had just been indulging himself out of loneliness?

Because it hurt worse than any bullet ever could. That was why.

Gilbert had come into things unattached, with nobody waiting for him to come home but a mother and brother too young to serve. He’d known from pretty damn close to the beginning that Lovino had a life back home and yet had still managed to fool himself into thinking what they had was special, that Lovino could ever care for him in a capacity that wasn’t brought on by hard days and even harder nights.

Toby licked his hand, apparently not satisfied that his owner was acting so despondent today instead of petting him properly. Gilbert stood up from the couch to go into the kitchen. It was about time for Toby’s dinner, and with how things were going today, he could use a drink himself, maybe four to be safe.

 

* * *

 

_20th of September, 1942  
_ _Africa_

_Lovely Diary,_

      _We had training today and your boy kicked some ASS! Like god damn, I’m good. General was super pleased and said he has his eye on me. I feel like the belle of the ball, except instead of wearing glass slippers I wear boots. Cindy should take hints._  
_It was pretty funny though because Lovino can’t shoot for shit. I’m talking he shot the General’s tent. The tent was BEHIND us. Poor guy...I couldn’t help feeling bad for him so, being the great person I am, I cheered him up like nobody’s business! With my help he’ll be the second best marksman in camp! (Number One is reserved for me, but you, my dear Diary, are already well aware of my greatness.) I offered him some pointers and we got to talking. Like, a lot. Well okay, I did most of the talking, but he did more than grunt so I am counting it a VICTORY in my books._  
 _Oh, did I mention I got him to smile? I’m not even sure how to be honest, but he did and I think my brain must have short circuited temporarily. He’s really cute when he smiles, but I don’t think he’d appreciated me telling him that. Not many men would. I’ve got a good feeling about Lovino though. Maybe someday I’ll tell him. Right now I’ve got to go polish my boots._

 

* * *

 

Had he ever told him, though? Gilbert frowned, trying to remember while he popped the top off his beer. He may not have said the exact words, but surely he’d commented on it at one point to someone other this his own personal journal...right?

He was a bit shocked to find that he couldn’t remember now. For how meticulous and detailed a writer Gilbert considered himself, he thought he would have written it down and, consequently, would have remembered doing so, but he was drawing a blank at the moment. Maybe he was blocking stuff out again. That could easily be it. He was so hung up on Lovino that his subconscious was trying to push the man out for his own good.

What did it matter? He consoled himself with knowing that it didn’t. Telling Lovino he had a nice smile wouldn’t have changed things. He would still be living alone, having a liquid dinner with Toby in an apartment that had never managed to feel like home. The past was the past, and there was no need to get so worked up over it.

Three bottles later saw Gilbert lying on the couch, staring listlessly at the ceiling and with a hand on Toby’s head, the dog by his master’s side as close as he could be from the floor below. The routine was old for both of them.


End file.
